my lost boy

Noah Clack (25)-1.jpg

I dreamed about him last night, my Noah, our Noah, for the first time. In my dream, he was about the age he is in this photo. We were putting away groceries and he stacked his little arms high with cans of tomatoes to put into the pantry. The entire dream felt like a normal day, just doing the stuff that families do, day in and day out. But there was one moment, that I looked at him walking back and forth, so alive and I asked someone, "How is it that he is here right now, still alive?" It's like I knew that in the future he would die so how could he be alive right then? 

I'm reading a book about time travel ( Kindred by Octavia Butler) It's fiction, right? But it makes me think. It makes me think of the possibilities of how we exist in different spaces, planes, times. I've thought a lot about Noah while reading this book and what it would be like to go back, to experience it all again, the same and yet different. If I went back, I would know what would come. Just like in my dream.

The question that gets asked over and over now is "How can he be dead?" How is it possible to know and not know at the same time? Why does reality have to remind me every day that he is gone? My mind simply wants to reject what is true so it floats to thoughts that include him, that plan on him, that anticipate seeing him again and then the panic of knowing comes again. This is how grief remains the constant companion because I lose him daily, multiple times a day. 

I hate when I write that I lose him, I lost him, he is lost. Why? I think it's because I don't want to feel like I have lost him, that I can't find him. I believe I can find him. I believe he is here right now, standing watch over me as I cry and type and cry and type. And I ask myself again, why? Why do I resist saying that we lost him? He is our lost boy. He was then and he is now.



His favorite story was Peter Pan. The last thing we did together was see the musical, Finding Neverland. I was still caught in the brain fog of healing from my stroke and I struggled throughout the performance with being able to hear and comprehend. In my mind, I projected my own experience on his and wondered if he even enjoyed it. Oh, he did, saying it was his new favorite musical. (before that Phantom of the Opera ... which we have tickets to see in two weeks. Oh my heart) 

Maybe bits of today's healing are wrapped up in softening toward these terms. Allowing him to be the lost boy he was and is.